


Luminosity

by StarlightSkies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, Love Confessions (of a sort), M/M, Post-Copulation Confession Hour, i love how that's an actual tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 20:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19753150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightSkies/pseuds/StarlightSkies
Summary: Aziraphale tries to talk about feelings. Crowley is, as ever, purposefully obtuse.





	Luminosity

There is light streaming through the blinds, casting dappled, sunlight-through-seawater patterns across Aziraphale's white blonde hair.

Crowley lounges beside him, basking in the gentle warmth of the angel's lamplight soul. He brushes slender fingers across Aziraphale's bare skin, along the curve of his stomach, the rise of his hip, and is rewarded with a contented sigh. 

“We should do this more often,” Aziraphale says, smile playing like sunlight across his lips.

“ _This?_ ” Crowley props himself up on one elbow to look down at him. “As in, sex?” He doesn’t try to stifle the smile that has begun to tug at one corner of his mouth. “Need I remind you, it hasn’t even been ten minutes since I had your dick in my mou—”

“Don’t be vulgar.” The angel swats at his shoulder, though he doesn’t make too great an effort. “I don’t mean sex, Crowley. I mean…this,” he says, gesturing ambiguously at the space between them where sunbeams have continued to pool.

Crowley is quiet for a moment, considering his statement. “Pillow talk?” he guesses again, and Aziraphale gives him as withering a look as a pleasure-wrought angel can muster.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were being purposefully obtuse,” he sighs, and the sigh carries with it the implication that he doesn’t want to have to spell the whole thing out because it’s far more complicated that way. “I mean, this. Us. Being together, enjoying one another’s company. What humans do,” Aziraphale clarifies, and a flush begins to work its way across his cheeks.

Crowley falls silent and rolls away from Aziraphale.

It isn’t that they’ve never discussed what they are. Rather, it’s that it usually causes a problem of sorts. They’re very different beings, after all, in spite of the staggering degree of commonality between them. 

Mottled light continues to sway across the tangle of their limbs and the widening gap between their sticky, tired selves. Several long minutes pass before either dares to speak again, for fear of breaking the fragile lightness that has existed between them for as long as either can remember. It is terribly breakable, after all; it wouldn’t be the first time. Aziraphale wonders if he shouldn’t have broached the topic at all, because it’s simply not what they do.

Crowley surprises them both when he says, syllables mumbled into the pillow beneath his cheek, “maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I mean. More of this.”

Aziraphale looks as if his earthly heart has begun to sputter in his chest, and he is grateful that Crowley cannot see.

“I mean,” Crowley says again, “that is to say, we’ve already ticked the rest of the boxes.”

“Boxes?”

“On the metaphorical – metaphysical – _whatever_ ,” he growls. 

A beat.

“Point is,” Crowley says, a bit more softly, “I…like doing _this_. With you.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale says, not knowing what else he could possibly respond with to this sudden and intimate outburst that has rendered him more confused than before. Perhaps he sounds a bit disappointed, because Crowley heaves a sigh and turns over again, so that the gold of the sun that sets in his eyes begins to burn into Aziraphale.

“You think I’d bloody be here if I didn’t?” he demands, and Aziraphale sees the mess of labyrinthine emotions laid bare in Crowley’s sunset irises. He begs the angel not to ask, begs him not to push it too far because he isn’t ready, he isn’t _ready_ for this.

“No,” he says at last, and dares to reach a hesitant hand toward Crowley. “I suppose not.”

They don’t speak again for some time, and Aziraphale counts the galaxies with their infinite stars that have been born and died in the empty space of silence between them. Crowley is, in many ways, like the stars he helped create: a glittering mass of nuclear fusion that burns, fast and bright, within the void surrounding him.

 _And it is him whom I love above all creation_ , Aziraphale thinks with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw some people trying out some 666 word fic prompts, and I thought I'd toss my own into the fandom since it's about time I got off my ass and wrote again. I'm sorry we didn't get an actual confession in this one, but I've been enjoying exploring the emotions and interactions between Aziraphale and Crowley, and it didn't feel quite right to end it with a love confession. I might try some more of these shorter works since I don't have time to finish the stupidly long GO fic I'm working on now, so if you have a prompt or something you'd like to see written, hit me up in the comments or on tumblr @thenevarranseeker. Hope you enjoyed!


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